


ukuleles and other dangerous ideas

by sevenfoxes



Category: Captain America (Movies) RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Casual Sex, Drunk Sex, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Just Get Married Already, Pining, Ridiculous Flirting, Slow Burn, Ukuleles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 14:38:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5460080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenfoxes/pseuds/sevenfoxes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It just felt really cathartic,” Hayley says.  “She’s been in such a horrific mourning phase for the last few episodes, and it felt like a bit of closure for her finally.” Hayley remembers the deep sorrow she'd tapped into on the soundstage, trying to imagine the realization of never seeing Steve again. In some ways, showing up to Chris crashed out on her couch is the perfect antidote to the emotional mess of her day.</p><p>A withering sigh floats up from Hayley’s lap.  “That’s nice,” he says as though distracted, his eyes shifted over to the telly where Clooney and Pitt are leaning against a car talking, the volume down so low that the words aren’t audible.  “Are we gonna order pizza?”</p><p>Chris yelps as Hayley attempts to smother him with her Kansas City Royals throw pillow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ukuleles and other dangerous ideas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [torigates](https://archiveofourown.org/users/torigates/gifts).



> I laughed my ass off when I went to your author letter and you had linked to basically the same picspam as I had in my request to express why two are fucking ridiculous and should have novel-length fic written about them.
> 
> Just a couple things. One, I tried to be pretty faithful re: timing of things, but I fudged things a little (aka I was too lazy to go look up the dates of every time they sent each other ukuleles and flirted over twitter because THERE ARE SO MANY. I'VE NEVER SEEN SUCH BLATANT CONSTANT FLIRTING BETWEEN A NON-COUPLE). Two, this is not the fic you want to read if you don’t think that Chris has had plenty of sex with a multitude of partners. BASICALLY: HE’S HUMAN.
> 
> Three, I almost titled this, “touch the tit.” 
> 
> Happy yuletide.

Chris is fully aware his love life is a complete disaster. He doesn’t need Lainey Gossip or TMZ headlines to bring this to his attention.

His older sister - the only married one of the Evans siblings - is a particular harpie on this subject when it comes to all her siblings, but she loves shitting on Chris’s inability to maintain steady relationships as much as Chris like to tease her about her bizarre obsession with Christmas themed shit that ends up choking up the basement of their family home in Boston.

(“You’re just too goddamn sentimental,” Carly bitches at him over the phone one day when he makes the mistake of mentioning his latest dating disaster. “You’re all romance and _she could be the one_ and put her on a pedestal, and then have a minor meltdown when she turns out to have flaws too. You need to learn how to moderate your expectations.”

Chris resists the urge to smash his head down onto the countertop. “Thanks for the completely unsolicited advice, Carly.”

“Plus, you know, you’re high maintenance.”

Chris further resists smashing his brand new iPhone 6 against the countertop. “You do wonders for my fucking self-esteem, too.”

“I love you, you know that. You’re a--” she lets out a kind of _yeuch_ sound at herself because it’s Carly, and as his older sister, she’s made it her life's mission to give him a hard time, “handsome guy with a good heart. A catch! I just worry about you. Plus, I want my kids to have cousins, and you’re not getting any younger.”

“You’re worse than mom!”

“I’m telling her that.”)

He’s dated a lot of women in the business, a lot of women out of the business, a lot of women who have been one night stands, but only a few who have turned into something special.

First there was Tara, whom he’d spent years pining over, whom he’d lost his virginity to, and who had dumped him at prom for the ex she would end up marrying eight years later, breaking his goddamn heart. At the time, it had felt like he had snapped back, spending the last few weeks of school necking with every girl who looked his way, but it had taken him more than a year and a half to really find an equilibrium again. (He had attended their wedding, because he’s a chump, and because he cares about her, stupid teenage decisions aside.)

Then Jessica, his first real relationship when he landed in LA. She had been kind, smart, and blistering good in bed. He had adored her, but she had a frosty, stand-offish relationship with his family, who hadn’t taken to her the way he had hoped. It had put a significant amount of strain on the relationship given he spent most of his time not filming living with them in Boston.

(During one of their particularly vicious fights, she had told him, _You need to grow up, Chris. Who the hell still has a bedroom at his mother’s house, for fuck’s sake?_ and he’d never quite forgiven her for it. But he’d preceded her remarks with a nasty dig at her mother, who had been the worst kind of stage mom when Jessica had been growing up. The good times had been very, very good, but her breaking up with him had been a mercy on the both of them. He still thinks about her from time to time though, and had sent over an Iron Man onesie when her son had been born.)

Then Minka, who his family had genuinely liked, but whom he could never manage to hang on to for more than a year. There had been low-grade cheating on both ends before they had realized after the second attempt at dating that they had been better as friends than trying to make a relationship work. Long distance didn’t work for either of them, and when they had broken up the second time while he was shooting _Snowpiercer_ in Prague, it had felt final in the way the first hadn’t.

(Not that they don’t still sleep together occasionally. One of the particularly shitty things about actually being a recognizable face in LA means that one night stands and short relationships have a pretty significant chance of ending up on TMZ or Gawker, so Chris has a few friends and exes that he trusts who have become friends with benefits. Minka spends most of her time in New York or LA, so when they’re both in the same city and single, they tend to hook up.)

Although he’s terrible at maintaining long term relationships, his ability to remain friends with women he’s dated weirds out his guy friends. His break-ups aren’t usually too amicable, but they aren’t terrible either, and Chris hates leaving things on bad terms, which is how he’s ended up as good friends with a lot of the girls he’s had sex with.

Then there’s Hayley.

 

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

Hayley meets Chris for the first time during her screen test. 

Captain America is the first decent Hollywood audition her new agent has landed her, and she’s impressed considering her film oeuvre consists mostly of period dramas and mediocre mini-series. The initial meeting with Joe and a few of the producers whose names she’s a little too nervous to catch goes well, so they bring her in to read with the actor they’ve already signed to play Steve Rogers.

“You’ll love him,” Dale tells her over the phone as Hayley attacks the terrible grout on the bathtub of the rent-by-the-week apartment she’s barely affording in Los Angeles. He’s surprisingly likeable for an agent, and came recommended by Kenneth. Hayley also loves the hint of a southern accent in his voice. “One of my other clients worked with Chris on the Fantastic Four movies and apparently he’s a total peach.”

Hayley’s a bit of an adrenaline junky, so while most of her friends in the business hate screen tests, she loves them. There’s a pressure with a live audience, the blind date of a co-star, having to find immediate chemistry. She knows they’re bringing in another actress to screen test, but when she arrives at the studio, she’s the only one in the waiting room when a harried looking assistant comes out to fetch her.

Taking a seat beside Chris as the crew sets up to film, she smiles as he reaches over and shakes her hand, introducing himself. She’s a little underwhelmed at the tall, but relatively slender man across from her; he looks more like a frat boy with his Red Sox hat and hoodie on than he does Captain America. That aside, he’s kind and seems quite friendly, but it also feels like he’s only half-there, and there’s a nervous energy that comes off of him that strikes her as immensely bizarre given he’s the one with a sure thing in the room. He smells like Old Spice, and a little hint of cigarette smoke, like he’s the type of smoker who’s learned to hide it.

The wait is blissfully short before they begin.

The producers have pulled a few bits from the script they haven’t let her read yet. Marvel is notorious about secrecy around their productions, and what Hayley knows about her character is what she’s pulled from the internet about the comics. Although she’s never been a fan of comics or the superhero genre, she’s genuinely intrigued by Peggy Carter, a strong woman in a sea of men.

It’s a scene between the two of them in the back of a car. The direction is that Steve is wistful and nervous, while Peggy finds his quiet revelations to be endearing. There is meant to be a simmering attraction to Steve, even though this is set during a point in the film where Chris is going to be slimmed down by special effects.

What shocks Hayley is the instantaneous shift in Chris’s demeanor as they begin to act out the scene. Hayley’s able to imagine him as smaller, frailer, but strong - as though his physicality melts away. She’s worked with seasoned performers who could do a lot less with a lot more, and in this room, despite the row of men and women watching her intently, Hayley feels herself slip into Peggy effortlessly.

The second scene is one where she’s speaking to Steve over the radio, which is an odd choice considering it’s most likely a scene they won’t actually be shooting together. The earnestness of Chris’s voice as he tells her what he’s got to do makes the tears come easily to Hayley, and by the time she’s finished, she catches a couple of the crew quietly rubbing under their eyes.

She leaves with a great feeling, both about her chances for the role and about the film itself. Good roles are only as great as the script and your co-stars, and she’s more excited about both than she’s been in a long while about anything.

Her agent calls her a week later to tell her they’re offering her the role, along with a decent multi-film contract, though Dale does warn her that Peggy’s character is not expected to appear in any subsequent films. Apparently Marvel likes to lock down their actors on the off-chance their characters are needed to appear again.

“So don’t worry,” Dale says. “This isn’t a long term commitment. She’s going to be a one-film character.”

 

* * *

 

Chris spends most of the filming of _Captain America: The First Avenger_ a mix of raw energy, nerves, and incredible sweetness. It’s very apparent that he takes the role - and his responsibility for carrying the movie - extremely seriously. He’s open and approachable in a way that Hayley hasn’t seen from many actors with profiles as high as Chris’s.

She adores the cast, particularly Chris, and has worked with Dominic enough that she finds the scenes filmed with the both of them to be the most fun she’s ever had on set. They joke around more than what makes Joe strictly happy, especially when Chris can’t stop laughing when they actually start filming a take.

(Something else that wouldn't make the studio strictly happy? The somewhat salacious videos that Dom shoots on his mobile between takes of the cast screwing around in character. The one Hayley and Chris mime of Peggy giving Steve a blowjob in the back of Stark’s plane is one that Dom continually threatens to unleash on youtube.)

Then she accidentally reaches out to touch his chest during one of the takes set in the SSR lab and Hayley _does not hear the bloody end of it_. Especially from Dom, who ends every subsequent take with, “TOUCH THE TIT, TOUCH THE TIT,” whispered under his breath until Hayley socks him in the arm.

Most of the cast goes out drinking when they don’t have early calls in the morning, and about four weeks into the shoot, she and a couple of the regulars (Dom, Chris, Sebastian and JJ) and a handful of the crew around their age end up at a bar near the hotel. Sebastian comes out less regularly than the others, a little shyer, but a sweetheart none the less. Hayley particularly loves it when Sebastian comes drinking with them because as they have quickly discovered, while he’s quite unassuming and reserved on set, when drunk, he’s an even more tactile flirt than Chris is, and loves to give long, messy hugs.

They spend a couple hours downing decent beer and shots that Chris orders for everyone, opening a tab and refusing to let any of the crew pay for their own drinks. By midnight, it’s only JJ, Chris, and two of the stunt guys left at the bar with her, which dwindles down even further when Hayley announces she’s done for the night and Chris offers to walk her back.

Eventually, they end up in Chris’s suite. Not surprisingly, Marvel has spent quite a bit more on his accommodations than on Hayley’s, though her room is entirely serviceable and more than enough. Curling up on the couch, Chris grabs them two beers from the minibar and plops down beside her.

The conversation turns a bit morose when Hayley steers it toward his seeming apprehension about the role. She’s never quite understood it.

“I don’t know,” Chris says, drunk enough that he’s slipped into a delightfully charming Bostonian accent. “It’s scary? Like, life-changing scary. I’ve never wanted the fame side of things. Assholes with cameras following you around in cars, taking photos of you and your family. During Fantastic Four, it felt that way, like things could get out of control.”

Things are different in London, and in Kansas City she’s all but completely anonymous. Hayley’s never been particularly nervous about fame, but she’s also never lived in Los Angeles. To her, the things Chris speaks of are rather foreign, though unpleasant sounding.

“Mmm,” she says. “But you took it.”

“Too good to pass up in the end,” he admits, nodding. “But it’s still scary, even without the fame stuff. Movies like this… movies with iconic characters, movies that don’t perform. They can kill your career. People forget the bad blips, but bad blockbusters…” He zones out a little, his mind lost somewhere.

Hayley grins and drunkenly snaps her fingers in his face, trying to break the mood. She hates sad drunkenness. “Earth to Chris.”

Chris grabs her hand with a laugh and tugs her closer. He smells incredibly good, and he’s warm as hell. Hayley knows where this is going even before he slips his hand to the small of her back and says, “Hails?” a pet name that almost makes her laugh into his mouth when he kisses her.

Considering how drunk they both are, the sex is surprisingly good. Parts of it are hazy with drink, but she remembers the way he pulled her knickers down slowly, how wide she’d had to stretch her thighs to accommodate the breadth of his shoulders. He’d gone down on her on the couch until she’d come, she remembers that. How they got to the bed from the couch is another matter completely, but she remembers him telling her to wrap her hands around the slats on the headboard, how good he felt inside of her, the way his hips had pressed down perfectly against hers.

(She remembers others things more hazily: the condom, the sound of his rough grunts, how she could taste herself still on his mouth when he kissed her as he pressed inside of her, the way he’d talked, the neverending stream of words - what he wanted to do to her, how she felt, how much he liked it…)

Hayley wakes up halfway through the night, painfully sober and moderately horrified. Despite the popular cliche she’s come to realize is quite real, she has never slept with a co-star before, particularly during a production. He barely wakes when she slips out of bed, but he does catch her hand, mumbling something about, _wait, I’ll getttup, don’t go_ , before falling back asleep, spread across his wide bed.

At first, she’s decidedly afraid. Afraid that he’ll treat her differently, afraid that he’ll make mention of it to someone, that the gossip grapevine will take over. She’s no babe in the woods; she knows that it’s different for actresses, that a reputation can be tarnished so easily and so permanently with little more than rumour and innuendo.

But Chris is a consummate professional and barely makes mention of their drunken hook-up beyond quietly apologizing for not walking her back to her room afterward when they finally get a moment alone the next day. He’s no less friendly and tactile, and treats her with the same respectful camaraderie he had before they’d slept together. From the lack of fresh ribbing she gets from Dominic, she’s pretty sure he’s also been discreet, which she deeply appreciates.

“TOUCH THE TIT,” Dominic yells from across the soundstage.

No more than normal, anyway.

 

* * *

 

Hayley leaves the production with a little less than a month of shooting left, mostly scenes with Steve and the Howling Commandos remaining. She ends up back in London for a few theatre auditions that don’t go anywhere, which is disappointing, but not unexpected. 

Chris texts her a bit while they finish filming, and calls one night when he’s drunk and bored, which ends up turning into a four hour phone call that is sure to drive his bill into the stratosphere. She’s surprised at the effort he puts into maintaining things once she’s back on the other side of the pond. They don’t speak regularly, but she gets a couple texts from him a month, and he’s a surprisingly prolific emailer, which she hadn’t been expecting.

By the premiere, Chris is a damn good friend and she’s genuinely happy to see him in the flesh again. The hug he gives her nearly crushes her ribs, and the photographers at the premiere get a few sweet photos of them together that she saves on her phone. They get completely shitfaced at the afterparty, and Dominic ends up throwing up into a planter near the exit of the club Chris takes them to.

“Is it sad that I missed this?” Chris asks her later as Sebastian and JJ play some horrific American Idol game on XBox that has them singing offkey into a microphone. Dominic is on the floor, drooling into the carpet, and Hayley is spread out across the most comfortable couch on the entire planet. Chris is sitting on the floor next to the couch, his face close enough that she can smell his cologne.

“Yes, darling,” Hayley laughs before she passes out face-first into his couch that probably costs more than her flat in London.

 

* * *

 

Hayley texts Chris a photo of herself at Disneyland with her face painted. She’s got a pair of Mickey ears on and a huge smile on her face. She follows it up with a few more of her trip, including a shot of her squeezed between two amusement park workers in giant Pluto and Mickey Mouse costumes.

_HOW IS THIS PLACE REAL? CAN I LIVE HERE FOREVER?_

_i know right?_

_WISH YOU WERE HERE!_

_me too._

Chris saves the shot of Hayley with the Mickey ears as her profile photo on his phone.

 

* * *

 

It’s weird seeing Hayley in prosthetics and age-altering makeup they have her in for Peggy and Steve’s scene together in _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_. He’s beyond thrilled that she’s back on set, even though it’s only for a few days. Although Chris still misses some of the guys from the first movie, having Sebastian and Hayley back on set makes it feel a bit more like home again.

What had once felt like a risk now feels endlessly rewarding. He can barely remember the reasons why he was hesitant about taking on the role. He adores working on the Marvel films, and he’s particularly excited about the Russos, who are both extremely talented and very passionate about his character. He likes the direction they’re taking with Cap, and he’s been looking forward to filming this scene with Hayley for weeks. It’s an emotionally difficult scene to film, but it feels so true to the man Chris knows Steve is. So while it’s tough, it’s also deeply gratifying.

Hayley seems pleased with it as well, but it takes a couple hours in the make-up chair before she’s ready to shoot.

He knows they’re doing a lot of work on Hayley’s face with CGI, because even with the make-up, she looks… really beautiful. Wrinkly and gray, but beautiful.

“I’d still hit it,” Chris tells her jokingly as the make-up artist quickly reapplies some of the wrinkles near Hayley’s eyes.

Hayley punches him so hard in the arm he lets out a little shriek that they - thank _god_ \- don’t include in the outtakes.

 

* * *

 

Mackie’s one of the most laid back guys that Chris knows. Unlike a lot of the actors that claim to be laid back, non-hollywood types, Mackie is the genuine deal, one of the reasons they’re such good friends.

Which is also why they end up going out together a lot in LA now that Chris has taken a bit of a step back from the party scene. Mackie doesn’t really love clubs, so mostly they hit a couple low-key bars that serve decent food.

“I don’t get it,” Chris says, taking a sip of his beer. “She started dating this guy.” Chris pulls up Hayley’s twitter account and follows it through to the new boyfriend’s account where he’s snapped a few photos of the two of them. Chris’s mother raised him right; he’s not the type of guy that puts a lot of weight behind looks, but jesus, the guy is deeply unattractive. Or maybe Chris is just a little bitter. (Okay, maybe a bit of both.)

His name is Evan and he’s a musician based out of London. The last guy Hayley had hooked up with (that Chris is aware of) was a musician as well. At least the last guy had been a musician Chris had actually heard of, though now he can’t hear the song _Chasing Cars_ without being annoyed.

“So?” The waitress wanders up and drops a huge plate of nachos in front of them. The one nice thing about LA is that most of the wait staff at restaurants and dive bars are generally unimpressed with celebrities. They care about tips, not photos or autographs.

“So…” Chris says. “She can do so much better! It’s weird, isn’t it?”

Mackie shrugs and looks at Chris like he can see _right_ through him. “Not weird. Knew a girl like Hayley in high school: gorgeous, funny, smart - the whole package. Could have gone for any guy, went for a guy with thick rimmed glasses who wrote for the school paper and got into Juilliard. Girls like Hayley want the kind of guy who’s gonna be faithful and worship the ground she walks on, not a high maintenance, tiny-bootied man who has commitment issues. Though I will admit you look good in those tight-ass t-shirts they keep sticking you in.”

Chris sucks in a dramatic breath. “One: not high maintenance. Two: this ass is perfectly sized, thank you.” He lets the commitment issues comment drop; it's a subject they've argued about before and it's a sore spot between them, mostly because it's something that Mackie has struggled with far more than Chris.

“Chris, you know I love your little ass, but you are the definition of high maintenance.”

“Am not!” The affronted cry is mangled by beer and the corn chip in his mouth.

“Literally. You know those super fancy dictionaries that come with the occasional illustrations under words? Your pretty little mug would be sketched right under _high maintenance_.”

“Fuck you,” Chris snaps, poking listlessly at the nachos they ordered that are 90% cheese and not enough guac. The salsa has also made the tortilla chips soggy and he fucking _hates_ that. “Plus, high maintenance isn’t a word. It’s two, fucker.”

“Sentiment stands,” Mackie says with a shit-eating grin, motioning for the waitress as he shoves approximately three pounds of melted cheese into his mouth.

 

* * *

 

Joss meets with Hayley in London for a few drinks. He’s doing a few re-writes on the script they’re about to shoot for _Age of Ultron_ and he wanted to meet with her about the possibility of bringing in Peggy for a short scene, which Hayley had jumped at.

A few hours and two pints later, she and Joss are gibbering like a bunch of red-cheeked schoolgirls. Hayley really likes Joss, particularly his penchant for gossiping. It’s delightful, even if she finds he can get a little mean with it sometimes.

“Yeah, they were going to go with Alice Eve,” Joss tells her. “Chris was the deciding factor. Better chemistry, and let’s face it, a better choice. Plus, Chris put his vote in for you.”

“What?” Hayley says. She knew that her second audition - the screen test - had been hastily arranged for her, but her agent hadn’t given her any real idea of where she had stood until they had offered her the role. There had been a ton of speculation, but Hayley had tried to steer clear of it for the sake of her sanity.

“Yeah. Kevin loves Chris. Like, _loves_ him.” Joss sounds a little irritated by this, but Hayley chooses to ignore it. This is the kind of stuff Joss can get catty about. “Part of the reason they courted him so hard to play Cap. Most actors don’t get a single fucking say in casting, but Kevin really wanted to make him happy, and Joe was leaning toward you anyway. So when Chris put his foot down about you, that was it. It was yours.”

A few weeks later, while they’re shooting the scene Joss writes specifically for Hayley in the dance hall, she leans up and plants a kiss on Chris’s cheek.

Chris turns and smiles at her. “What’s that for?”

Hayley reaches up and smooths away the mark her lipstick has made on his cheek. “Nothing. Just being you.”

Chris spins her a little roughly, letting his hand catch low on her back when she presses up into his body in a move the choreographer had taught them. His palm is warm through the thin material of her dress and his nose brushes her forehead as he says, “Okay then.”

 

* * *

 

Chris spends nearly four months in London shooting for Ultron. Hayley’s busy with a few television parts and Chris’s production schedule is absolute insanity, but they usually try to meet up once a week to either catch dinner or a movie, or for Hayley to take him to the great little treasures in the city that only the locals know about.

Although Marvel puts him up in an amazing apartment near the heart of the city, he finds himself crashing at Hayley’s on a frequent basis, usually after a night of cooking and drinking, sometimes with her friends that he gets along with surprisingly well, but sometimes alone, too. She has a tiny little closet that passes as a guest room with a bed that is ridiculously comfortable given it’s a futon, and by the second month of shooting, he keeps a toothbrush, a spare hoodie, and a pair of boxers at her place on the off chance he stays over.

He goes on a few dates with girls he knows in town and one of the set designers on the crew, but nothing grows into a relationship he’s interested in maintaining. He finds himself comparing his nights out with them to the adventures with Hayley, and nothing stacks up.

“Danger! Danger, Chris Evans,” Scott barks out robotically over the phone.

“Yeah,” Chris says, shoving his face into his pillow and letting out a deep sigh. “I know.”

 

* * *

 

Scarlett sounds distracted. “I don’t know why you don’t just ask her out.” 

“Because she’s always dating someone,” Chris says. “Or I am. Last time she was free was the whole, _let’s try this again_ thing with Minka, and the second that ended, she had already hooked up with this musician dude who is probably sensitive and amazing, and it will be another two years before she’s single again.”

“Yes, Chris,” Scarlett says, grunting in what looks like pain, putting a hand on her distended stomach, “some people have relationships that last longer than a bag of baby spinach.”

He laughs. “That was weirdly specific.”

“Ugh, this gremlin wants me to eat the worst shit, Chris,” Scarlett moans, trying to flag down their waitress. He’s already watched her eat two baskets of bread with the weird bottles of olive oil and balsamic vinegar. “Last night I ate a bag of Cheetos, three pickles and a jar of olives. Like, all at once.”

Chris grimaces. Scarlett occasionally indulges in wings and burgers and all the kinds of food that Chris loves, but she typically ascribes to a more stringent macrobiotic diet. He’s fucking _loved_ watching her pregnancy progress. It’s basically stripped her of any facade of tolerance, particularly for bullshit and fancy-pants food. She eats like a dumpster and has zero patience for Joss or Robert, both of whom now handle her delicately.

“Yeah,” Scarlett says, noticing his face. “Then I ate half a tub of rocky road that I was hiding from Romain behind a bag of peas in the freezer. So you not hitting it with Hayley isn’t on my tragedies of the week radar yet.”

“Aww,” Chris says, reaching out to touch her bump. Motherhood really suits her.

“Touch it again and I will cut off your hand,” Scarlett says without malice as she shoves another piece of bread into her mouth.

 

* * *

 

“Holy shit!” is what Chris yells when Hayley picks up the phone.

“Well hello to you too, dear.” She can hear the tink-tink-tink noise of the ukulele she had bought and had shipped to his mother’s house in Boston, where she knew he’d be spending his 34th birthday. (Shitfaced and slipping into the delightful accent he only seemed to carry when he was good and drunk.)

“Hails, you don’t even understand.” His voice is ridiculously awed for what was a fifty pound purchase on Amazon. She had been sorely tempted to get him the neon pink one, but decided to splurge with a lovely looking mahogany one instead. “This is like… like, the best present I have ever gotten.”

“Well, I’m glad.” She knew it was the sort of thing Chris would adore, and buying presents for him has become an increasingly difficult endeavour for the boy who has everything. “Can I ask one simple request of you, though?”

“Anything.”

“Promise you’ll go serenade Scott for me,” Hayley says with a smile. She’s known Scott for almost as long as she’s known Chris (she rather loves how close the Evans family is - her family is wonderful, but small and spread out), and enjoys yanking his pigtails nearly as much as she does Chris’s. “Loudly and continuously, please.”

Chris just lets out an evil laugh, says, “I love you a little too much,” and then hangs up the phone.

 _theyre not even going to find your body_ , Scott texts her the next day.

 

* * *

 

_charades party, my house tonight. this time bring your A game, i want to crush mackie’s soul._

Hayley smiles, reading the text between takes. Whenever she comes over, Chris is always her charades partner. Partially, she believes, because Anthony and Anna refuse to partner with him anymore, but mostly because she and he have the same competitive spirit, which is precisely _why_ Anthony and Anna refuse to be his partner.

The highlight of Hayley’s move to Los Angeles has been game nights at Chris’s place. He has an amazing set of friends who have slowly become an extended network of her friends as well. It’s made the transition to LA a lot smoother than she thought it was going to be. With Chris, it feels a bit like home.

That being said, they are behind schedule and if she makes it out of wardrobe before ten, it’s going to be a miracle.

_Don’t know if I can. Shooting is running long._

_nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo._

_Sorry!_

Chris texts a photo of himself looking despondent.

_what if i buy guiness? Gounnnes? how the fuck do you spell your weird thick british beer?_

_It’s Irish, you yank. I won’t take this guff from a man who drinks Stella._

In the end, she makes it to his place in Laurel Canyon before nine. 

(“That’s _it!_ ” Anthony yells when Hayley gets _The Bride of Frankenstein_ in less than fifteen seconds. “You two are not fucking allowed to be partners anymore. New rule!”

Chris high fives Hayley.)

 

* * *

 

Normally, Hayley finishing a day of shooting at six in the evening would be a godsend, a luxury that she’s coming to realize is rare when shooting a television show. However, having started the day just before three in the morning takes a little shine off such a gift, so by the time she’s dropped off at her flat just before seven, walking straight has become a struggle.

Hayley tries not to complain, though on days that run as long and as emotionally draining as today, it’s hard not to. She adores acting and has made a good living doing it. Peggy Carter is a gift that she’s never quite felt she deserves; an actress can go an entire career without being blessed with a complex, strong character like Peggy. But Hayley’s also spent the better part of the afternoon crying over Steve’s blood as she pretended to pour it off the Brooklyn Bridge. She’s exhausted - emotionally and physically - and ready to fall into bed for the next eight hours.

Making things slightly more complicated? Walking in to find Chris spread across her couch, a bowl resting on his stomach and a beer in his hand while he watches something loud enough on the telly that she knows she’s going to be hearing it from her neighbours tomorrow.

“Hey,” he mumbles through a mouth full of doritos before turning down the volume on what sounds like _Ocean’s Eleven_ and taking a drink of his beer. Now that they’re both in LA, she’s taken to keeping a couple bottles of Stella in the fridge, even though she drinks wine or Guinness. This isn’t the first time Chris has used the spare key she lent him when she’d gone back to London for a couple weeks around Christmas and never bothered to get back.

“Hello,” Hayley replies, dumping her purse and jacket by the door and locking it behind her. Chris sits up, turns down the volume, and shoves the bowl onto the really gorgeous coffee table he had given her as a housewarming gift. Hayley pops into the space he’s made for her on the couch, then huffs out an _oomf_ when Chris just lets his body flop back down, his head ending up in her lap.

“No, please, make yourself at home,” she says, stealing a sip of his beer. She grimaces a little at the taste. Stella Artois is such a shitty beer, though she’s thankful he doesn’t drink Budweiser. American beer is the absolute worst, though Chris calls her a terrible snob when she tells him so.

“Aww, honey,” Chris says sarcastically with a smile, rubbing the back of his neck against her thigh. “Rough day?”

Hayley flicks his forehead in annoyance, which makes him laugh. “Ugh, just the longest day ever.”

“That’s why I don’t do tv, Hails.”

Hayley rolls her eyes and gives him her most unimpressed glare. “Oh, did I tell you that Scott sent me youtube links to _Opposite Sex_?”

Chris closes his eyes and groans. “I swear, only children have it so good.”

Hayley laughs, but doesn’t rub it in. She’s starred in some real clunkers, so she’s no high ground to stand on anyway, but Chris can be oddly sensitive about his work, so she tries to be careful where to land her jabs.

“Seriously though,” he says, looking up at her with the earnestness that makes her stomach clench a bit. He really is such a lovely man. “You okay?”

She nods, and the tension runs out of his face, his body relaxing against her. “We shot a scene about Steve today,” she explains. “I spent most of the afternoon in tears and my face feels frightfully puffy.”

Chris hums and seems relieved, taking another sip of his beer and reaching the tips of his fingers out just far enough to snag a chip and shove it into his mouth. They’re going to start shooting the next Captain America movie in May, and she’s watched him go through this routine enough times to know that Chris is in his binge-for-him phase, which means allowing himself to eat the fatty carbs that will be off limits in two weeks when he starts training again.

It’s weird to see him without a beard again. He wouldn’t tell her exactly why he’d shaved it other than it was some type of panicked last minute reshoot for Joss. Hayley doesn’t know much about what’s going on, but she does know that Joss and Marvel are butting heads about last minute edits to _Age of Ultron_. 

“It just felt really cathartic,” Hayley explains. “She’s been in such a horrific mourning phase for the last few episodes, and it felt like a bit of closure for her finally.” Hayley remembers the deep sorrow she’d tapped into on the soundstage, trying to imagine the realization of never seeing Steve again. In some ways, showing up to Chris crashed out on her couch is the perfect antidote to the emotional mess of her day.

A withering sigh floats up from Hayley’s lap. “That’s nice,” he says as though distracted, his eyes shifted over to the telly where Clooney and Pitt are leaning against a car talking, the volume down so low that the words aren’t audible. “Are we gonna order pizza?”

Chris yelps as Hayley attempts to smother him with her Kansas City Royals throw pillow.

 

* * *

 

Hayley breaks up with Evan in late May. It’s the most amicable break-up she’s ever had, but it hurts like bloody hell none the less. She’s spending less and less time in London, and with Agent Carter most likely heading into a second season next year, she’s already searching for a more permanent place in Los Angeles. Evan isn’t interested in long distance, and neither is she. They end it with a quiet dinner at his place in London and a long hug before she leaves.

She’s heartbroken and spends a few days with her mum and a couple close friends before Chris calls her from Atlanta. He’s shit about time zones, so she has to patiently remind him that he’s a good five hours behind her, and it’s nearly one in the morning in London.

But then he listens to her get maudlin about Evan, so she gets her revenge, unintended or not. He’s patient and kind, and relates his own long distance woes to her.

“It’s not the distance though,” he tells her. “Distance just makes the decision easier. If it’s worth it, it’s worth it, distance or not. Distance just makes the brighter things brighter and the harder things harder.”

Not for the first time, Hayley’s left a bit speechless by Chris. He’s an incredibly sweet man with an instinctive empathy. He’s also one of her best friends, someone she’s come to rely on for support and advice, despite the fact he seems to be terrible about taking it at times. Making things more complicated is the fact that he’s a fucking incredible shag, and were it not for the fact that he is absolutely not her type and a disaster waiting to happen, she would have made a move years ago.

“Come out to the set,” he tells her after a moment of silence. This is the first Captain America movie she’s not going to be a part of, and for some reason, it hurts. Even though she’d been in heavy makeup for the last, and it had only been for a few minutes of screentime, she had adored shooting that scene with Chris. Not being a part of that this time around has been a bit of an aching gap, even though she’s got her own show now. “You need a change in scenery.”

“I don’t know,” Hayley says. “You know what Marvel’s like about their sets.” Family and staff only, usually.

“Okay, so don’t tweet parts of the script,” Chris laughs, “but you know Joe and Anthony won’t mind. We all _miss_ you.” He sounds so earnest that all she wants to do is fly a million hours to a place hot enough that even Chris has been whining about the humidity.

In the end, she tacks on the visit after the short stop in Kansas City to see her dad. She spends a couple days with Chris and the crew, whom she finds herself hugging constantly. The Russos had inherited a lot of the crew from the first movie for the second, and they loyally kept them for the third as well, so there’s a sea of familiar faces.

She sets up camp in Chris’s trailer, which is almost as luxurious as Robert’s, or so he tells her. She tweets the contents of his fridge and them playing the latest game Chris is trying to foist on her, hangs out with Anthony (“Mackie, Hayley! Only my mother calls me Anthony!”) for a few hours while Chris is filming some scenes with Sebastian, then spends an afternoon with Sebastian and Scarlett lounging in the pool at Robert’s house. Chris doesn’t have a ton of time off during her stay, but they pack in plenty of partying in the evenings, both low key and extravagant.

It’s the perfect distraction.

Chris, the complete doll, also insists that she stay at the house Marvel has rented for him for the duration of the shoot, even though she had planned to stay at the hotel Sebastian and Anthony are at. He puts her up in his guest room, which is lovely and decadent, and it means she gets to roll out of bed to the sight of a completely rumpled Chris looking half-dead over his morning protein shake in the kitchen, which is a surprisingly amusing perk.

The last night she’s on set, Chris takes her out for dinner after they finish filming. It’s a small steakhouse that serves an incredible rib eye, and Chris gets them seated in a private booth near the back. It’s quiet and relaxing, and the perfect end to her trip to Atlanta.

Back at the house, she yawns and tells him she’s turning in for the night almost the moment they get in the door. It's been a busy and exciting few days, and while she's eager to squeeze every last minute out of the remainder of the trip, she's not sure she can keep her eyes open any longer.

“Night,” he says, and ducks down to kiss her on the cheek. The kiss lasts too long to be friendly, and when she turns her face toward him, he leans down farther and presses his mouth to hers. The kiss is quiet and tender, and filled with an earnestness that makes her heart thunder in her chest. This isn’t a come-on or Chris looking for sex. This is something decidedly more than that. 

She also knows that her heart is a sore thing right now, and she’s been making a lot of decisions out of a place of fear and insecurity lately.

“Chris,” she says, pulling away from his mouth, her voice betraying her thoughts, and Chris backs off instantly like he’s done something terribly wrong. “No no. I…” She grabs the lapels of his jacket to keep him from going too far, and the look of horrible panic dissipates from his face.

The truth is that she’s thought about this a lot. But she’s reeling from a break up, and while she knows sex with Chris is more than good, she’s not in a place where casual sex is going to feel good. Especially with someone she cares about as much as Chris. 

“You’re not a rebound,” she tells him, and he looks at her quizzically. “I’m not in a good place right now, and I… I really don’t do casual.” She hopes he doesn’t take it as a judgement on his character, and thankfully, he doesn’t, nodding with a tight smile on his face. “I care about you too much, yeah? Anything now is just hurt over Evan.”

She expects an argument or hurt words, but instead he nods again, gives her a loose, warm hug, and kisses her temple. “No worries, okay? I understand. Get some sleep. I’ll drive you to the airport in the morning.”

 

* * *

 

Chris sends her a short video of him playing the ukulele she bought him. He’s picked up a surprising amount of skill on it, and she listens to him strum out a pretty decent version of _Shake It Off_.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” she hears Scott scream from another room. “I’M GOING TO BEAT YOU TO DEATH WITH THAT THING!”

 _BEST FIFTY QUID I’VE EVER SPENT_ , she texts him.

 

* * *

 

The ringtone of his phone makes him jump half a foot in the air.

“Jesus!” he yells, scaring the shit out of the PA standing beside him, who promptly walks face-first into the door of the wardrobe trailer. He apologizes profusely before hitting the accept button and bringing the phone to his ear.

“Chris,” Hayley says seriously, like she’s a general preparing her troops. “I need your help in a battle of great importance. Have you heard about dubsmash?”

“Have I heard about what now?”

“Dubsmash, darling,” she says, her voice suddenly filling with the sort of excitement that only leads to terrible things. 

One of the wardrobe assistants pokes at the collar of Chris’s uniform trying to get the material to settle properly against his skin. He swaps the phone into his other hand and tries to make out Hayley’s excited jibbering. She tries to explain some battle between her and Gregg’s cast, but it’s not making a ton of sense.

“Listen,” Hayley says finally, cutting to the chase, “James and I are going to fly to Atlanta to shoot a ten second video lip synching with you tomorrow, then fly back to New York. For the pride of the Captain America and Agent Carter casts, Christopher!”

Chris laughs for the first time during his incredibly shitty day. He’s missed half of his marks, forgot a few of his lines, and took Grillo’s elbow into his ribs hard enough that he was winded pretty seriously. He’s been off, and everyone - including himself - knows it. “You’re insane. I love it. Let’s do this thing. Immediately.”

Sixteen hours later, Hayley and James are at his trailer door. With props. Luckily, today is one of Chris’s lighter days, and he’s already gotten Joe and Anthony’s approval to be seen in the Civil War Cap costume for Hayley’s video, mostly because it’s not a huge shift from the one in Ultron.

It takes a couple tries to nail down the timing on the first video, and Chris feels the weight of the shitty day before sliding off of him. Hayley is always the perfect antidote to a rough day, always smiles and reassurance when he needs it.

“Okay, how about one more?” Chris says. “Twenty seconds would make a three hour flight worth it, right?”

Hayley smiles sweetly at him, like she knows exactly how much he’s missing home and how tired he is. And how happy he is to have her here again.

“Okay, we need a game plan then,” Hayley says, tapping her chin in thought. “What will break Agents of Shield? What will break the internet?” She and James look at each other conspiratorily. “The kiss Peggy and Steve never got to have?” Hayley says, affecting a particularly posh accent and James grins, nodding enthusiastically.

Chris laughs and says, “Sure.”

They don’t plan this one out quite as much, just quickly hash it out before Claire, the PA that has been manning Hayley’s phone (also the kind girl he scared into walking face-first into a door), counts them down.

The music starts and Chris’s heart begins to pound a little as he steps forward and reaches for Hayley’s arm, yanking her against him and tipping her back far enough that a considerable amount of her weight is resting on his left arm. He leans down quickly and presses his mouth to hers.

Hayley wraps her arms snug around his neck and he’s shocked when her lips open under his. His reaction is immediate, more instinct than deliberate thought; his tongue presses into her mouth and she surprises him again by dropping her lower lip even farther, her tongue pressing against his. He knows the camera’s already moved to James, but he only presses the kiss deeper.

The music ends and he slowly, lazily ends the kiss.

Chris wiggles his eyebrows at Hayley as he pulls back and she breaks out into laughter.

 

* * *

 

Dominic calls her from Albuquerque. He’s shooting _Preacher_ down there during the Agent Carter hiatus, and her evenings have been filled with bored phone calls from what Dom has been calling the _sandy asscrack of hell_.

“So let me get this straight: you flew to bloody Atlanta for six hours to shoot a 10 second video of Chris sucking on your tongue?” 

“Dom.”

“You two screwed, didn’t you?” he accuses, his voice bright. “I swear to god that you two were shagging on the down low during the shoot. He kept _looking_ at you, plus the tit touching.”

“Dom!” She knows Dom will take her lack of denial as a confirmation, but he's always been able to see straight through her when she lies, so she knows it's not worth the bother.

“I knew it! No one gives a fake blowjob that enthusiastically,” he gleefully squeals into the phone. Hayley knows how much Chris treasures his privacy, and her continued silence on the matter had been both out of courtesy to Chris, and out of appreciation for keeping her confidence about it at the time. The only reason she doesn’t mind Dom knowing now is because she knows he can keep a secret.

Mostly, anyway.

(He still constantly threatens to drop that blowjob video on youtube.)

“I don’t get it then!” His voice drops down to a whisper. “Why aren’t you shagging him on the regular? Was it not enjoyable? Was the good Captain not _up_ for the challenge?”

Hayley groans into the phone. “Why do I let you drag me into these awful conversations?”

“Because you love it? And your other upper crust hoity-toity London friends wouldn’t make jokes about Captain America slipping you his flag pole of freedom.”

Hayley seriously considers hanging up. “I don’t know why I talk to you.”

“Yes, you do. Now please continue. The hotel they’ve got me in has like 20 channels and they’re all playing Kardashian reruns.”

“He was perfectly good, Dom.” She likes Dom, but it’s a weird conversation to be having with him. To be fair, it was far better than perfectly good. It’s easily some of the best she’s ever had, not that she’s told anyone about it.

(She thinks about it a lot, though.)

“Then I _really_ don’t get it.”

Hayley sighs. “I’ve never dated an actor before. I don’t know. He’s a great guy, but I don’t know if we’d be a good match. We’ve got a good thing going right now, and I’m not sure I want to throw that away for something he’ll grow tired of in a week.”

Dom makes an annoyed noise. “You’re an idiot if you think that boy isn’t completely mad about you,” he says. “I mean, it’s the worst kept secret on the planet that he pines after you like a faithful puppy. And you can do a hell of a lot worse. Like Paul. Paul was a wanker.”

She sighs. “I’m not pointing fingers, because god knows I’ve got my problems, but he’s just… there’s a lot of baggage there. His last serious relationship dissolved badly, and he does the dating thing far more casually than I do. I don’t know if we’re looking for the same things.”

“You know I love you, right?” Dom says in a serious voice, which is weird for him. “You’ve dated a lot of guys who were low-key and had perfectly lovely, low-key relationships, and they all ended. Low-key. Maybe it’s time to try something different.” He sighs. “I mean, I’m not in the habit of trying to get Evans laid, but you’re happier with him. A different kind of happy. And I guess I just like seeing you that happy.”

Hayley isn’t quite sure what to say, so the line is quiet for a moment, just the sound of her dishwasher noisily clanking in the background.

“New Mexico is the worst,” Dom whines into the phone. “Come save me.”

 

* * *

 

Chris typically never checks Hayley’s twitter (or anyone else’s for that matter) unless she tags him, so she is pretty sure he has absolutely no idea that she’s planning to surprise him in Salt Lake City. While Hayley, Anthony and Sebastian all enjoy conventions to a certain degree, Chris does not. Hayley knows he adores his fans, but he’s a pretty private guy, and conventions have been a source of stress and anxiety for him in the past.

So, for Chris, agreeing to attend his first convention outside of the tightly controlled Comic Con is a big step, and while Hayley’s partially on board for crashing it just for the pure pleasure of pranking him, she knows that the main reason she and Anthony agree to attend is to give support to Chris.

The convention organizers are incredibly fun to work with. Though the convention is being held in Utah, the organizers are top notch, and completely on board with surprising Chris. They get her and Anthony stowed away safely as Chris begins his panel, and Hayley smiles as she hears the crowd go nuts when Anthony surprises Chris fifteen minutes into his session.

Unfortunately, the crowd lets out a loud gasp when she sneaks on stage about five minutes later, and before she can get her hands wrapped around his eyes, he turns and definitely gets a good look at her. The shock painted all over his face gives her a huge thrill as she hugs him around the neck, and when she steps back and around the row of chairs, she smiles as Chris steps up and reaches out for her.

“You’re here,” he whispers in her ear as she rubs her hand across his back, and she can’t help plastering a grin all over her face when his bearded cheek brushes up against her neck. 

“Yep,” she laughs as the hug goes longer than is strictly normal in front of a group of a couple hundred people. 

She and Chris only spend another twenty on stage answering questions before they leave Anthony to his portion of the Q&A.

“You little shit,” Chris growls playfully when they finally get backstage, swinging an arm around her waist and bringing her in for another bearhug, kissing the shell of her ear when she starts laughing at him. He rocks them back and forth a bit, sighing, “Thank you for coming.”

After a few hours of signing autographs, doing interviews and taking photos with fans, she and Chris finally get a breather, stepping into one of the quiet rooms set up for talent behind the main convention hall. They’re alone save for an attendant who ducks out the door after refreshing the modest refreshments table in the corner. Last time Hayley checked, Sebastian was still taking photos and Anthony was deep in conversation with the bloke who had chaired their panel.

Chris looks genuinely relaxed and happy, and the relief Hayley feels is a little surprising given she didn’t quite realize how anxious _she_ had been about all this going well for him. Hayley’s always loved interacting with fans, and seeing Chris be able to do it without the anxiety she knows he feels about too much pinpointed, frantic attention is pleasurable in a way that is unexpected.

“Hey,” Chris says, hunched low on one of the couches like he’s trying to melt into the fabric, “how about dinner?”

“Sure,” Hayley says, searching through her purse for her mobile. She’s missed a call from Lyndsey and has a few texts from one of her London-based friends she hasn’t heard from in a while. “Sebastian and Anthony were thinking about going to this karaoke place they heard of downtown that has Korean barbeque. Not sure how great Korean barbeque is going to be in Salt Lake City, but it could be fun watching Anthony drive Sebastian batty with Katy Perry covers.”

Chris makes a low noise that catches Hayley’s attention. “I was thinking maybe just us?” It’s posed like it’s a question, but the tone is all off. It might be a question, but it’s a loaded one.

“Us?”

He clears his throat a bit, and Hayley feels her heart start to pound a little. “I’d like to take you out,” he clarifies.

“Oh,” Hayley says. Chris is looking at her carefully, the kind of face he sometimes puts on during interviews, like he’s preparing himself to take a question or a statement that might disappoint him, and the look is pasted on, rather than authentic.

She knows that if she says no, he won’t put up a fuss, won’t argue with her, won’t get angry or upset with her, that he’ll still invite her over for game night and text her about his brother’s shitty taste in guys, that he’ll still be a great friend and a good confidant.

Which is why she smiles and says, “Sure.”

 

* * *

 

This time, they’re not drunk. This time, Chris is slightly buzzed from the beer he had with dinner, and Hayley only managed to finish half her glass of wine, and he’s seen her _drink_ , so he knows she’s moderately sober. This time, Chris’s memory of the sound she makes when he presses his body into hers and kisses her is vibrant, untouched by the haze that surrounds his drunken hook-ups.

She’s having trouble opening her door with the keycard while he’s kissing her, so he takes the card from her fumbling hand and shoves it into the slot until he hears the telltale beep of the lock.

The door slams behind them hard enough that the wall rattles a bit, and Chris forces her up against it, sliding his mouth down her neck so that he can set his teeth into the soft skin there. She lets out a rough noise that gets him half-hard in an instant, her fingers tangling in his hair to tug at it getting him the rest of the way there.

“This isn’t casual,” Chris blurts out. Hayley freezes with a puzzled look on her face. “It’s not… I mean, this was a date.”

“Okay?” She doesn’t sound judgemental so much as a little confused.

“I mean,” Chris says, trying to connect his malfunctioning brain to his malfunctioning mouth, “this isn’t casual. I don’t think this is casual. Not for me.”

Hayley’s looking at him like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, so he blurts out, “I’d like to date.” There’s a really awkward silence that follows, so he adds, “You.”

Oh _Jesus_. He’s fucking horrified at himself right now. Thank god his brother and Mackie aren’t around to hear this shit; he’d never hear the end of it. Chris considers himself to be rather open and forthright; while he’s not particularly smooth, he hasn’t had a terrible time expressing his interest to a woman in the past.

This is a fucking trainwreck.

(He just wants this so badly. They’ve been dancing around each other for years, and while he knows Mackie is wrong about his commitment issues, Chris is also perfectly aware that he’s not the easiest person in a relationship.)

Hayley reaches up and shoves his leather jacket off his shoulders, letting it flop onto the floor of her suite.

“I’d like to shag,” Hayley says, the sort of smug grin she only gets when she’s about to yank his chain plastered all over her face. He’s always adored that about her, that she’s never been intimidated by him in the least, and is more than willing to give as good as she gets. “You. But if you’d like me to make an honest man of you first, we can wait. Find a priest. Though I’m not sure they make house calls this late in the evening.”

Chris feels the unbearable weight start to fall off his shoulders a little. “This _is_ Salt Lake City.”

“Ooh, you could marry Anthony too, then. He looks so fetching in white.”

That makes Chris laugh so hard that his body falls into hers a bit, pinning her against the wall. “You’re such a shit.”

She smiles against his neck. “It took you five years to figure that out?”

Chris leans in and kisses her, a gentle kiss that gets messy and deep, Hayley’s fingers digging into his sides, then dragging to the edge of his henley and pulling up until Chris reaches behind his back and drags the shirt right off, letting her paw at his chest a bit.

“Hails,” he says, and she nods as if he asked a question, taking his hands from where they’re cupping her cheeks to slide down over her chest to her hips, learning the topography of her body.

Chris walks her back to the bed, fussing a bit with the zipper at the back of Hayley’s dress until it lowers, making the left strap droop and slide over her shoulder and along the skin of her arm. He wants to touch it, but instead, he lets his hands slip low along her back until he feels the rise of her ass against his palms.

Hayley’s absolutely gorgeous. There isn’t a part of her he doesn’t find attractive as hell, from her eyes to her smile to her chest to her hands to the weird way her second toe is a little longer than her big one. But her ass is absolutely unreal, and he lets his hands grab at it just the right side of rough, which makes her laugh and roll her eyes at him, like she can read his mind.

“Such a bottom man,” she jibes, but doesn’t complain as he cups her, kneading the flesh with his fingers.

Chris lifts her a little so she can fall back onto the bed, sadly letting his hands slip off her ass as he steps back.

He reaches into his pocket and tosses the condom he finds there onto the night table before stripping off his pants and toeing off his shoes. On the bed, Hayley plants her feet on the bedspread and bends her knees, which causes the loose skirt of her dress to slide up her thighs until he can see the edge of her panties.

Chris has only slept with Hayley once before, but they’ve changed in front of each other more times than he can count, seen each other in various states of undress while on set or staying at each other’s houses. He’s dated a lot of women who have had expensive and exotic tastes in undergarments, but nothing comes close to how fucking _hot_ Hayley’s are. Mostly because they’re generally cute, but demure. She goes for cotton stuff, mostly, sometimes a little lace.

(He tries not to think of what a perv this makes him, the number of times he’s catalogued her panties or bra while they’ve been changing together. But he figures the number of times he caught her staring at his ass probably makes it a wash.)

He runs his hand over her panties - cotton, bikini cut, purple with white polka dots - and smiles when she lets out a quiet moan. Chris reaches up and slides them down her legs slowly. He loves this part the most: the anticipation, the little things like the way Hayley’s legs shiver when her panties drag over her knees.

When he had been younger, he hadn’t really enjoyed going down on a woman the way he does now. It had taken him a while to truly appreciate how fucking amazing it is when a woman loses control with your mouth on her, but now, it’s almost one of his favourite things when a woman is willing (and sometimes, as he has learned, they surprisingly aren’t).

Sometimes it’s difficult to tell what a girl likes when you’re going down on her, either too shy or just too quiet to give Chris the cues he needs to make it enjoyable. He’s been with a few that wanted more hands than mouth, a few that didn’t want to be fingered at all, a few that didn’t enjoy direct stimulation and a couple that got rough when they didn’t get it immediately. He doesn’t remember a hell of a lot from the first time they slept together between how drunk he’d been and how long ago it was, so he’s flying a bit blind with Hayley.

Fortunately, Hayley’s loud and bossy as hell, because as soon as he gets his mouth on her, she winds her fingers through his hair and helps direct him exactly where she wants him. He fucking _loves_ having his hair tugged - within reason, of course - and when he presses his mouth right over her clit and sucks, she pulls on it so perfectly that for a second he seriously worries that he’s about to come in his boxers.

“Chris,” she whines loudly between moans, bucking her hips until he’s forced to pin them down with his forearm pressed heavy across her. He uses the other to test how much she wants his hands, and when she moans loudly as he teases her opening with them, he presses them inside and up, dragging his fingertips inside of her.

She’s surprisingly quiet when she actually comes, which is shocking considering how loudly she’d been moaning as he licked at her. Her body seizes up and shakes, and she lets out a breathy sigh.

Sitting back on his heels, Chris gives her a moment to collect herself, watching hypnotically as her chest rises and falls raggedly as she comes down. “You good?” he asks, and her eyes crack open as she nods, smiling.

“Help me get this off,” Hayley says, reaching for the straps of her dress. He helps her tug it over her head and tosses it beside the bed. He doesn’t get a good look at her bra before she unhooks it, but takes a moment to appreciate how gorgeous her tits are. Before he can stop himself, he leans in and sets his mouth to one, his tongue running over the bumpy rise of her nipple. She lets out a shocked gasp and flops back against the pillows.

He shucks his boxers off quickly. He’s ridiculously hard and slick with precome, and he takes a breath to calm himself a bit, or he’ll last a second inside of her.

“I think you might have to do most of the work,” Hayley says with a quiet smile. There’s still shivers going through her thigh muscles as he runs his hands up and down them, and Chris is quietly proud of himself. 

“Not a problem,” he tells her, leaning over to grab the condom and roll it on. He reaches underneath her knees and spreads her legs the way he needs them, settling against her. He hooks the left over his hip, getting her hips to tilt in a way that he knows is going to make her feel amazing when he pushes into her.

From the strangled moan Hayley makes when Chris pushes into her, he’s pretty sure he succeeds. Normally, Chris knows he’s a bit antsy during sex; he likes to switch things up. Rhythm, position, angle. But Hayley looks so thoroughly fucked-out and he’s so on edge that he knows he’s not going to last long, so instead he picks up a long, languorous rhythm that feels good for both of them, and works at getting her there one more time.

He talks, too: mostly gibberish that he barely remembers as soon as it’s out of his mouth. Mostly about her. How good she feels, how much he wants her, how he’s going to make her come again. She moans at that, so he keeps repeating it.

“You’re gonna come again,” he tells her, letting his hips snap against hers roughly. “Aren’t you?”

She closes her eyes, so he says it again, the words harder to let her know he expects an answer. “Aren’t you?”

Hayley’s eyes blink open and her back arches when he lands a particularly rough thrust. “Yeah. Yes. _Please._ ”

By the time he feels her thigh muscles begin to tremble again, he feels like crying he needs to come so badly. Hayley reaches a hand between them and presses down against her clit, her fingers brushing against his dick, and that’s it. His entire body seizes up and he lets out a choked groan at how fucking _amazing_ it feels. The orgasm shoots down his spine and into his toes, little aftershocks ricocheting through his body when he feels her tighten down through her own orgasm.

Chris knows he’s heavy, but Hayley makes no attempt to push him off of her when they finish, just lets him rest with his weight half on her. He’ll need to pull out soon, but can’t bring himself to move other than to slide his thumb back and forth over the damp skin of her shoulder.

It’s quiet, just the sound of their breathing and the traffic outside the window, open to let in the warm autumn breeze.

“It’s not,” Hayley starts to say, before taking a deep breath. “It’s not casual for me, either.”

Chris smiles as he turns to kiss her. “Good.”

 

* * *

 

To: Captain Ukulele [chrisevs@gmail.com]  
From: Scott Evans [scottieman@gmail.com]  
Date: 7:38pm, 2015-10-27  
Subject: You two are disgusting

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aaEe2XjNro4>  
I WILL PLAY THE UKULELE AT YOUR WEDDING.

(AND THEN I WILL BREAK IT INTO A MILLION FUCKING PIECES.)

Scott  
PS: Mom wants to know if you’re bringing Hayley for Thanksgiving


End file.
